


If You Knew

by interstellartreasure



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: (the last three are mentioned. this is from butler's perspective.), Gen, Letters, Other, anyway it's pain time!, idk i'm a z'er and unfortunately haven't used letters since i was 6, like literally the whole fic is in a (probably inaccurate) letter format, this starts out normal and then the infection (buffed) hits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellartreasure/pseuds/interstellartreasure
Summary: There were only two times Lurien was kept away from the city.Once, to agree to become a Dreamer.The second, what being a Dreamer entailed.Aster wrote to him in his absence.---CW: Murder, starvation, character death
Relationships: Lurien the Watcher & Hegemol (Hollow Knight), Lurien the Watcher & Lurien the Watcher's Butler (Hollow Knight), Lurien the Watcher/Lurien the Watcher's Butler (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	If You Knew

**Author's Note:**

> Aster is Lurien's butler! For reference, they're nonbinary and strictly use they/them. Please don't be weird.

Master Lurien,

Farrow has suggested I write you in our time apart. I told her she was ridiculous, yet mere days later: here I am. I suppose I’m the fool.

I send this to wish you well, if not establish contact. I know you’ve mentioned Ogrim is a bit overwhelming at times, I do hope he has learned to tone it down now that you stay by him more often. Worst case scenario, I’d imagine Knight Dryya would be willing for you to stay with her should you need an excuse for silence. Of course, this is all assuming you’ve allowed yourself any sort of break among what the Pale King wishes for you to do.

The spire is the same as it’s always been. Though we miss you, you needn’t worry how we keep it without you. Relax, sir; I can practically feel your stress from here.

Nonetheless, apologies if my attempt to rebuild our connection with you has caused any trouble, especially with how short this is. I know the palace retainers can occasionally be a pain. Take your time to respond, if at all, and take care.

Best regards,

Aster

—

Master Lurien,

I received your letter. (Well, I suppose that’s actually a bit obvious if you see I’ve replied.) Regardless, I’ve received it with some surprise my own even reached you. I hadn’t expected the retainers of the palace to allow such needless communication, although I’m sure some part of it had to do with the spire’s seal upon its envelope. I could only imagine how disgruntled they’d be should they realize how casually we speak through these. Speaking of, I hope _you_ don’t mind; Farrow and I plan to hoard these for inconsequential communication. (I jest, of course. She only jokingly suggested it, as her son holds interest in the capital’s history and would apparently appreciate being able to personally preserve this current iteration of the Watcher’s crest. As for myself, I’ve only used these for you. I see no reason otherwise.)

I’m thankful to hear Ogrim has given you space. However, I must admit the image of him standing in your doorway with his claws pressed together, waiting for you to acknowledge him, is a funny scene. It is incredibly unlike him, though I’m sure he makes up for it by returning to an even louder iteration of himself when you do finally indulge him.

As for Knight Hegemol, he is as he’s always been, if a little more weary. While you’re away, I’ve noticed he’s come to the spire more often in late evenings to check on us. Personally, I haven’t spoken with him much, but the others note he’s keeping good spirits even if he’s begun to trail off. He assures us this only happens because he’s felt restless lately. No one quite knows how to respond to that.

With regard to your other question, I’m not necessarily lonely by any means. I’ve no reason to be, really, with how full and abuzz the spire is these days; especially when retrieving or preparing food, it’s rather easy to spark conversation with the others. Besides, Farrow always finds me and fills the space when we work together on the upper levels.

Of course, it _is_ strange to not see you in the areas I alone tend to. There are times I’ll turn to subject you to some silly comment that came to mind, only to remember you’re at the palace.

Speaking of, it is truly an honor to know I’ve been such an _awful_ influence on your designated day-long work periods. Genuinely. I couldn’t wish for a more memorable role than “that one servant who somehow convinced the Watcher to take breaks often enough to make it his habit.” Forget all my attempts at embroidery, _this_ is my true calling. Next thing you know, I’ll be working out that accursed sleep ‘schedule’ of yours. One of these days, I swear it.

However, I do genuinely wonder, what of you? Are you lonely at all? I understand you are familiar with the Knights present and I’d assume you must speak with both the Archive’s Teacher and our King for whatever you need to do, but the palace is vast and its occupants few; as I see it, it’s a bit isolating. I pray you may cope well, but do feel free to confess otherwise. I’ll listen to anything you wish to express.

As always, take care. Good luck with what projects you’ve taken on. Once it's done with, are you able to tell me? I realize it is likely too early to definitively say anything, and I do understand if not. I know most of what happens in the palace is to remain confidential. Forgive me, I’m only curious as to what’s kept you away.

Wishing you well,

Aster

—

Master Lurien,

I apologize for taking longer than usual to craft my response, even if it is only by a day or so. As you know, Farrow’s shell is fragile in comparison to most of us; this, combined with her tremors, has resulted in her dropping (and breaking) some of our crockery and the shards cut into the lower half of her leg. She is well on her way to recovery now, but she requests I ask your forgiveness on her behalf if she doesn’t return to the spire. I assured her you wouldn’t care for the objects so long as she was alright, but she is most familiar with the sanctum’s process. Her injury has left her worried for money, yet she feels too guilty having left your service to ask for anything beyond what she’s already worked for. It is I who asks you if you'd be willing to compensate her until she can stand (or find aid) once more. I'm aware she hasn’t worked with you as long as most of us, but she is a dear family friend. I doubt many others would take her after this, and in her old age I would hate for her to worry much more about how she is to care for and support her children, especially the younger ones. While her son provides some income, it’s not sustainable.

Returning to our expected conversation, I am well otherwise. I’d like to consider myself an optimist, and it does help to know you plan to return eventually. Don’t worry, from here on out, I’ll write down my foolish thoughts and half-processed jokes to save for your return. I so love interrupting your artistic pursuits.

I’ve conveyed your chiding to Hegemol as well. His words were, after a rather exaggerated sigh, “That sounds like my Lurien.” He also wished just this evening that I remind you of the importance of following your own advice, to which I must agree wholeheartedly. You cannot insist he rest with the lumaflies when I have witnessed, on multiple occasions, you setting up your easel around that very same time. This speaks nothing to my suspicions you work through the night with little rest, if any. I mean this in the most respectful way: you are a little foolish for that, especially when you have the gall to complain about headaches the following morn.

It is a relief to know you’ve been able to take away time and stay by Madam Monomon now that she’s done her part in this ‘research,’ as well as find comfort in my own messages to you. Your words are rather sweet and it brings me such warmth to hear how I’ve been able to provide some welcome distraction.

As for the story you request, I would be entirely willing, but I’m not quite sure what type you search for. My go-to would be the time Kelau left me stranded on the cliffs and forever imprinted a fear of heights into me, (I know your spire is tall. I try not to think about it.) but I imagine my tales I try to play off as humorous are not all that entertaining if I can’t do horrible imitations of people’s voices or my grand gestures. I could tell you of those I met growing up in Dirtmouth if you wish. There are all sorts of strange figures who pass by in their pursuit of Hallownest. I only ask for some sort of prompt before I proceed, if you have any particular direction in mind.

As always, take care,

Aster

—

Master Lurien,

Farrow thanks you for your generosity. Her own letter should be attached to mine, though it’s worth noting there’s no correlation between ours. Hers is only prompted from what I conveyed of your promise. Thank you for giving her this. It truly means more than you know.

Hegemol has threatened to leave for the palace at your remark, and although he gave another string of (friendly, I assume) insults to your name for me to convey, I have refused him. I would highly recommend meeting with him upon your return. I should never wish to interfere. (However, if I may speak my own, humble opinion: you are both fools. That is all.)

Moving on: with regard to this story, I feel it must be said I’ve never outright hated the city based solely on its associations with my father. I could appreciate its objective beauty without care for its denizens. I loved its craft even if it helped persist a fear, should my words slip from me and I implied I was anything ‘less’ than what I appeared to be. It would’ve been so easy to mention anything of my family other than my father’s inheritance and be bombarded with nasty suspicion, spoken or not.

Back then, the only moments I felt calm in this place were few and far between: when I tended to the stags, when night fell, and, eventually, in the protection of the first truly-kind figure I’d witnessed here.

It wasn’t meant to be more than a check-in on the new hostler, and I was genuinely anxious when it’d become more. Our first conversation was stiff and slow, until I heard his warm laugh. It was a light, quick thing to one of my nervous comments I’ve long since forgotten; this was the first break to our presumed barrier. We’d gone on more casually afterward, based more on physical interactions than much else. In my sleep-deprived state, I mentioned how difficult it was to help the stags adjust since King’s station had shifted. There were more technical terms to it, but I, in my brilliance, latched to the event where one nearly drenched a previous Overseer. Thankfully, he hadn’t taken my comment as flippant disregard, but understood the absurdity of the situation. How was this such a repetitive occurrence, to go so far into that flooded area? Had the stags simply forgotten to convey this to one another? Did the stags need to be warned aloud, or did they realize when the water grew past their legs? I had no answer, and not even this poor soul knew why they hadn’t broken habit when I asked them after the fact. Of course, they continued their service afterward. Regardless of that Overseer’s rank, this was ultimately another incident to be left forgotten. (Besides, we’ve since caved off that lower entrance.)

Regardless, this person volunteered we find time to visit one another more often after this mandatory introduction. I hesitantly conceded. It was strange at first, to join such normal conversation with someone who was quite clearly in a superior position, but it was admittedly comforting—though, at the time, I was deeply afraid of that same unbridled warmth I’d felt in his presence.

While often kept quiet, I was far too familiar with the tales of some higher-up to prey on a common bastard, to let them alone face the consequences as some seductress once they were found out to have such interpersonal moments. As you know, that is precisely the position my mother was brought to and cut from.

I suppose knowing that, it was foolish to indulge. But I’m so relieved I had.

I once thought I’d only find happiness in Hallownest were the city to fade entirely, but he brought me joy in allowing me to finally feel a _part_ of this city. Prior to this, I only shared any real community with that small town above. I never forgot his status far above me, but he somehow let that factor become irrelevant in the time we spent with one another. It felt as if, after countless cycles of my very person being disregarded or the desire to lie, I was allowed the freedom to connect with my whole self. I finally felt a part of Hallownest; I _finally_ had a home in its Heart that wasn’t wrought with the memory of my father, but decorated with the newfound chance I’d been given.

I can still recall the shock I felt at how similar my story was to others, once I found and dared to reach out to those like myself. I found ones older than I who were personally hurt with events the Overseers disregarded, who once shared my resentment for this place which hadn’t seemed to deserve all the praise it garnered. We were all wary of the change to a single figure taking such a heavy mantle, one not even a council had been able to handle. We all heard the empty promises of good intent, but had yet to see proof of it. It didn’t matter to us that this one swore the same; few cared that this one was explicitly chosen by our King. We all heard the tales of how the capital became more open after its reconstruction, but it was difficult to let go of the doubt we once held so close to our hearts.

The realization was slow, but each of us agreed there was a moment we finally understood what they _meant_ by change. I see now it’s taken so many cycles for its residents to begin to morph their views, but the beginning of it was for our voices to finally be heard by a governer who considered us as part of Hallownest’s people. No longer were our pleas covered by the ramble of nobles, but we were _acknowledged_ and our word considered in the changes he made to our home. We were no longer deemed outsiders to the place some of us were born in, but given a chance to build it as our own.

There are times I still feel light with disbelief at how far this city’s come, when it was once nothing but an elitist’s dream.

I have him to thank for restoring my faith. _You_ were the catalyst for this long-desired change, Lurien. You were the one who first embraced me in this city, when prior it had been nothing but cold. I could never possibly thank you enough.

Although it was initially difficult to leave the stagways behind and join your service, to come to terms with the fact I would remain in the city where even the downpour once put me on edge, I would not change a thing. I wouldn’t ever say I’m indebted, but I do wish to show how thankful I am, and if I’m able to hold conversation with you as well, that’s all the better. I’m truly lucky to share such personal moments with you.

Beyond that, though I know it is not guaranteed this shall remain if there is no Watcher, I do firmly believe it is with this newfound hope you have given us that people will fight to keep times as they are should it ever regress. As it is, we are united with our differences welcomed and valued, as Hallownest is meant to be. There is no question as to why the Pale King chose you, I see that now.

 _That_ is how I grew to love the city.

Aster

—

Master Lurien,

My Lord, you are _eccentric_. You make up for your late reply by actually sending a bouquet to Dirtmouth? When I first read through your letter I’d thought you were exaggerating. I’m honored. I truly am. But for future reference, you really needn’t go to all that trouble. I understand you’ve been busy with more important matters and I genuinely don’t mind waiting for when you’re next available. Especially knowing all I’d given you to read through; I recall looking over it afterward and wondering how I’d ever craft any sort of response to something like that. Of course, you’ve somehow figured it out and I now hold what you’ve written back with a smile. You are kinder than I frankly deserve. Thank you, Lurien.

In saying all this, I certainly don’t mean to brush over your gift. I’m thankful for everything you’ve sent back, even if I’m still admittedly at a loss for words. I truly appreciate that you took the time to find the hyssops; it’s a little surprising you remembered such a one-off note from cycles back, but the fact you have is rather endearing. I’ll be sure to cherish this. It’ll be such a sweet reminder of you even when I’m not in the city. I now wish I’d been able to send something to you as well, though I know it’d do little good in easing the stress you’ve expressed. I have prepared a small piece here for your return, however. I hope you can at least look forward to that.

Speaking of, I’m deeply relieved to know you’re to return soon. I’ve missed you so. Your gentle touch, your light-hearted teasing… our more serious conversations. I’m sure we can continue to have those through this medium, but words carry a different weight when I can hear your tone, when I may see your face. It is rather comforting to _feel_ your presence as we speak.

Regardless, stay safe on your return; I’ll look forward to pestering you then, sir.

With love,

Aster

* * *

~~Lurien~~ ~~,~~ ~~Master Lurien,~~

 ~~I~~ ~~_We_ miss ~~

~~Why~~

~~I don't understa~~

—

Master Lurien,

It has been quite a while since we’ve found reason to communicate through this, hasn’t it?

A bit needless, considering we’re both in the city, I know. In fact, putting my words to paper only leaves evidence of how irrational I’ve become. You’re only a room or two over from where I sit as I write to you; I could easily stand and relay this to you aloud, ~~but I'd sound mad to try~~ but we both know you prefer written word regardless. Speaking of, I do miss the flow to your writing. You ~~had~~ have such an astounding grasp on language, especially clear when you’d intend to show it off as art. Your visions shone so wonderfully vibrant in one’s mind from merely reading through your work, let alone the emphasis you carried when you spoke it aloud. ~~I can't believe you'll nev~~ ~~I'll never again hear y~~

Before you claim I embellish, let me assure you I am well-versed in what other literature the capital provides. My father hadn’t much else to entertain me, after all. I know _you_ actually bother to interweave emotion with intrigue, fueling the inspiration your stories bring to all who witness it. The heart you place into your works is so evident and perfectly fitting as an extension of you. That is far more than I’ve noticed any other noble genuinely craft. I still look to it and think of you.

Regardless, are you well? I would hope so. I’ve no idea whether you truly continue to watch over us the Heart, but I hope you do. It mourns your absence. Knight Hegemol holds strong in your stead, but it’s not the same. ~~It’ll never~~

Take care. No matter what comes, we will keep the spire for you.

Sincerely,

Aster

—

Master Lurien,

Hegemol has been stripped of his rank and left your city. The only ones left to rule it are the Overseers, who’ve done rather little to keep the Heart stable.

In retreating to the crossroads, Hegemol has locked the Heart’s gate and outright refuses the Pale King’s call to return the crest. Thankfully, he's not gone rogue. He’s said he has no intent to harm anyone and, in fact, still believes he’s in the right to protect Hallownest’s people despite his denial of our King. He didn’t bother to conceal his anger with our King when I spoke with him.

He insisted your sacrifice has been in vain. From this, he cursed the king not only for your state, but for the Knight buried alongside you. I wish I could ask you what he meant. He refused to clarify that part of it.

As much as I hate to say it, his accusations of your neutralized sacrifice aren’t baseless. There is frantic word on the street of the festerglow’s resurrection with no prior indication of its return. My mother wishes to leave Hallownest’s influence entirely, latched onto this idea that even Dirtmouth will become afflicted. I have denied em, and e’s threatened to go on without me. Is it awful of me to feel I’ve made the wrong choice?

The sanctum has encouraged the capital to seek its solace. I’ve tried. It only brought more worry; Victor extends his promise we shall overcome this turmoil with our King’s guidance, but even he has conceded that the King’s Light has begun to fade.

I’m scared, Lurien. I desperately want to believe in our King’s plan, but Hegemol’s words play in my head. It’s foolish, I know, to allow my will to break at some traitor’s word rather than let my faith hold in our King, but it's hard to stay strong ~~without you~~

Your sacrifice _can’t_ be for naught. Fate is not so cruel.

Aster.

—

Master Lurien,

The sanctum has blood on its hands. The Overseers have disbanded, with only Victor left to command the city. I think he’s killed the others. I wouldn’t put anything past him now knowing how he lured those most desperate into his awful scheme he claimed would end the infection. He stole Farrow. He nearly took _me._ Would have, were I any less able.

The king remained long enough to denounce him, but what worth was that when neither he nor Hegemol are present to reinforce it? It matters not what we wish for, not when the sanctum holds powers beyond what any nail can reflect.

You can’t go more than five clicks without hearing someone scream. I can’t recall the last time I dared to look outside and there was peace within the streets. There is no escape other than to claw our way through the emptied stagways, assuming you could work a hole through the gates. I know that’s an impossible task. Even with my cycles tending to the stagways, I’ve no semblance of a clue as to how I’d manage to work through that darkness. I wager starvation would come for me before I even found the crossroads, and I’ve never been one for darkness, especially in such a suffocatingly closed-up area.

There are no other options; the lift to the palace has broken, the lift to the crossroads is locked, and, no matter our attempts, the Heart’s gate refuses to break open.

We’re trapped in here with a murderer as the only ruler left and the infection ravaging the city more merciless than its initial outbreak. The spire’s only let people out to find food, but the storerooms could’ve only held so much, and this speaks nothing to what we may be deprived of should another choose to hoard it without warning. I’m terrified, Lurien. I can feel the hostility growing. So many have already lost their sense—the baron is proof enough of that. I’ve no idea how you once managed to quiet these needless arguments and quell people’s anger. I’ve tried, desperately, to replicate your kindness and understanding only to fail my every attempt, if not infuriate them further. Kindness, I fear, may lead to my death. To understand each other is inherent, we are _all_ trapped with this same struggle. I still can’t grasp our new reality. This is all so overwhelmingly painful. And atop it all I feel I’m somehow harming you when I go on like this, even though I _know_ you’re long-dead. How did you ever take your death in stride? How did you relent so easily? Do you know how far your beloved city has fallen without you? Do you know how much we miss you?

~~Lurien, I _need_ y ~~

I’m so sorry. I’ll burn this when I find the chance. I pray you never need see what we’ve become. I hope you’re at peace wherever you’ve gone.

—

Why do I dream of him? I can feel his hand in mine. I let him embrace me. I feel him breathe and I’ve heard his voice, clear and lovely and undoubtedly _him._ I hadn’t fully realized how vacant I felt without him by my side. Not until I was forced to relive losing him with this damned hunger lurching me awake.

I suppose it’s for the best. I know, rationally, it is only a dream. It is only a dream, yet I feel drawn when he tells me to stay. He is not so subtle in his insistence, there, that the last several cycles are somehow false. He is understanding of how difficult it’d be for me to abandon ‘this reality,’ and assures me he’ll still be with me when I ‘return’ to him, and he’s kept this sentiment for the past several nights as if he holds knowledge of the previous ones. I am not delusional. From everything he once told me of his own experiences with delusions, hallucinations, whatever else, I _know_ I am not prone to this. Even if there were reason to doubt it as anything beyond some desperate desire to reach for him, the undeniable ache I feel now should be more than enough to ignore every other disconnected sensation from that awful dream.

It is not real. If I wish for an escape, this is not the path to take.

Then again, it’s not as if any of the others are favorable in any manner. I do not want to live selfishly, especially if the consequence of my survival is another’s death. Is it not better then, to rest at peace with the others until death takes me? There is no real escape, everyone knows that. We are only fending off the inevitable.

“What a morbid thought.”

—

Lurien,

I love you.

I’m so sorry to burden you with another confession. I’ve tried to avoid writing you in what time we have left; I’m sure the city still seeks out your solace for matters far more important than some commoner’s selfish cry, but before I am to die, I _need_ you to know.

I love you so dearly, so thoroughly. I’ve loved you since our beginnings, though I initially failed to realize it. Even as I had come to terms with the fact I cared for you so, that I longed to craft my life beside you beyond our roles, I waited. I waited for any signal it would be reciprocated, or for these shameful feelings to wilt. We grew closer, which I am forever thankful for, but this only rekindled the ache. It never died. No matter how I denied it. No matter how my mind began to overthink. Even in your death, it irrationally clung to you.

I know my love to be wrong. I don’t expect I’ll ever truly see you again to be reassured otherwise, let alone hear this selfish sentiment returned. I’ve never deserved either, but you were a kind force. You saw the best in _all._ I am not so self-absorbed to think myself an exception, regardless of how you once, so freely, dared to list me as one of your closest friends. You were far more generous than most of the city. I can’t believe you once thought they could possibly begin to hate you, when they praised you even in your Dream, when they wanted _you_ more than anything in our most dire time of need. The Heart _loves_ you, Lurien. Those crueller speculations of where your faith lay were so scarce and so _wrong,_ they hardly deserved acknowledgement in the face of all you truly were.

I am lucky to serve you. I am lucky to have known you and been your friend, however short a time we had. You were a living miracle, benevolent and creatively inspiring. Your works shall last beyond time. It is through your paintings that the city stands despite what madness wrought it, for I’ve no doubt you perfectly captured its prior, wondrous state on canvas. It is what _should’ve_ lasted.

I miss you terribly. I wish I hadn’t wasted my time beside you. I wish I weren’t so afraid to hold your hand, always waiting for you to take mine first, as if I needed permission. I wish I had the courage to tell you of the wonders I saw within you more often, without care for how silly I’d sound to note the smaller things (such as the easy confidence with which you spoke everything, or the little tilt to your head when you smiled, or how I wanted to tend to the scars along your fingers.) I wish time had stopped while we were happy together. I wish this damned infection never happened and your King hadn’t sealed your fate. I would give _anything_ for a moment more beside you. Selfish as it may be, I’d use it to throw myself to you and finally tell you properly how much I love you _for_ you. I love _you_ as you are. I’d go on affectionately without fear of how anyone else would interpret how we cared for one another.

We had such little time. I suppose I only wish I’d given this a chance before our end, even though I know those moments are long gone.

Reality stands no matter my wishes nor yours. My time grows short. The hunger has left naught but suicidal ideation in its place. It hurts terribly to write this.

Ironically, this realization of my inevitable death through starvation has let me feel more _alive_ than I have in so long. That ought to be worth something, right? (I could imagine your pained gaze now, the scowl as you firmly dismissed my teasing for its inappropriate place. I give you permission to laugh, Lurien. I would laugh it away for you, but the pang within already berates me for breathing.)

I ramble on and the ache in my arm grows. I am a fool, to use what I’ve got left to write something you’ll never see. I doubt either of us will ever wake up after tonight.

I love you, Lurien. Not as your servant nor your guest, but as your friend: I love you.

Yours forever and always,

Aster


End file.
